


Shadows of Your Past

by favefangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, John Apologises, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, Past Violence, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 02:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/favefangirl
Summary: Maybe things weren't quiet, but they were living in a shroud of domestic bliss. John worked at the Doctor's office Monday through Friday while Sherlock worked cases and watched over Rosie, then Saturday they'd spend the entire day as a family (not playing board games - John knew better than that). Then Sundays Rosie would spend the day with Molly or Greg while John and Sherlock spent some time together, working on cases, having sex, whatever they so felt like at the time. Neither of them could have known that their perfect little bubble was about to be well and truly popped.(Set post-season 4)





	Shadows of Your Past

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**  
>  The next time Sherlock and John disagree on something and John moves just a little too quickly and Sherlock FLINCHES  
> by ravenmorganleigh  
> [X](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/828380925181186134/)

Life was quieter, more peaceful, less frantic and chaotic.

"John, your child is a contemptible beast!" Sherlock shouted from the living room. "I demand you come and deal with her!"

Okay, so many not quieter, or more peaceful, _or_ less frantic and chaotic. But it was a nice chaotic. It was finger-painting on the walls, it was stepping on Lego trying to get to the bathroom, it was intense negotiations about eating vegetables before ice-cream at dinner time. Rosie made life eventful in the best of ways, and they hadn't even had to give up solving crimes on the side to look after her.

Getting over Mary was hard, dealing with Eurus was awful, but they managed it. They had each other, and they had Rosie to help them through it all, and they managed to achieve the impossible - normalcy. Or, as normal as you can get living with the world's only consulting detective and a talkative toddler. Their friends helped a lot, though, offering to take care of Rosie whenever they need a break, or some time alone. They were like one big, dysfunctional, potentially insane family.

That wasn't the only development. A night, slightly drunk, over-tired from dealing with a teething child who hated her medicine and who never slept, laid on the floor by the fire side by side. John moved his hand just an inch, the alcohol in his system overpowering the voice in his head telling him not to, and rested it atop Sherlock's so that their palms were touching. He slipped his fingers between Sherlock's and heard a small gasp.

John rolled onto his side, watching as Sherlock turned his head to face him. He was nervous, and told himself to get a hold of himself. He was a grown man, he could do this without freaking out. He gently tucked a dark curl or two behind Sherlock's ear, watching as that beautiful, clever face twisted in confusion. Sherlock said something which sounded Like John's name, but John was already pressing himself forward to place a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips.

"John," Sherlock said, more clearly now, pulling away from John's kiss. "I want this, but Mary-"

"I love Mary, that's not going away, but what I feel for her is nothing, _nothing_ compared to what I feel for you." He pressed a kiss to the edge of Sherlock's mouth. "I'll do whatever you want need for me to prove that to you."

Sherlock shook his head, a slight movement that cast shadows over his face from the firelight, "You never need to prove yourself to me."

And like that, surrounded by toys which they really needed to put away, painted soft yellow hues from the burning fire, they made love for the first time. After that, John and Sherlock became JohnandSherlock. They were a couple. It was as simple as that. They knew it wouldn't be entirely easy, they'd have to tell people eventually - the press would have a field day over it - and one day Rosie would start asking questions, but they were prepared to face all that together.

So yes, maybe things weren't quiet, but they were living in a shroud of domestic bliss. John worked at the Doctor's office Monday through Friday while Sherlock worked cases and watched over Rosie, then Saturday they'd spend the entire day as a family (not playing board games - John knew better than that). Then Sundays Rosie would spend the day with Molly or Greg while John and Sherlock spent some time together, working on cases, having sex, whatever they so felt like at the time. Neither of them could have known that their perfect little bubble was about to be well and truly popped.

It was a Thursday, John was bone-tired from work and yet another sleepless night from Rosie , and he was a little testy. He was perpetually on edge, a second away from losing his temper when it happened. It was such a stupid little thing in hindsight, but John - always a little rash, no matter how much he tried not to be - reacted long before he could think about what he was doing.

"I know how to raise me daughter!" He shouted at Sherlock who, having realised how stressed John was, was just trying to make his life a little easier.

"I'm not implying you don't," Sherlock countered in a tone that was as close to soothing as he could get.

"Really? Let me guess, there's a place in your brilliant mind that knows everything about children, huh?" John argued. He knew he was blowing it way out of proportion, but he'd not given himself time to vent in weeks, it was like the flood gates had opened.

"John-"

"You don't know anything about people, Sherlock! Nothing! You don't get emotions, how could you understand how to raise a child." John's voice was extremely loud in the otherwise quiet flat. It bounced off the walls in an echo which forced John to really hear what he was saying. Rosie was downstairs with Mrs Hudson, but John wasn't sure that they both couldn't hear him.

He went to grab a pile of Rosie's clothes off the counter, intending to put them away and catch his breath in the time that would give him. Instead his breath caught in his throat. As he moved, Sherlock _flinched_. A look of fear crossed his face, and he curled in on himself. It was only a moment, but it was enough. John still remembered the hospital, Culverton Smith, the daughter that didn't know who Sherlock was, Sherlock doubting himself. It was a spiral into madness. John hadn't meant to snap, but he'd been on such a thin tightrope, constantly teetering on the edge between insanity and reason.

He hadn't meant to take his anger out on Sherlock then, either. Once again it was like the gates had opened, and every feeling of anger, sadness, loss, confusion, hatred burned inside his veins. He'd been so guilty afterwards he'd felt sick. He hadn't stopped apologising since, and Sherlock was constantly telling him that it was okay, but it wasn't. It would never be, and John had to live with that.

It wasn't often that he led with his fists after meeting Sherlock, but it was one of his bad habits from his teenage days. He started boxing eventually, discovering it was a good way to vent his anger and to burn some of his frantic energy, but he stopped when he left the army because of his limp. Meeting Sherlock opened him up to a whole new world he never could have imagined, and he found a new way to relieve stress - feet pounding the pavement of a London street, bringing down the bad guys, trying to keep up with Sherlock's incredible brain.

But he shouldn't take things out on Sherlock, and it was clear he'd gone too far. Not just here, but with Culverton Smith, too. Except then he hadn't gone too far, then he was so far across the line, he couldn't even see it anymore. _He's entitled_. But he wasn't - no one was. No one had the right to hurt Sherlock Holmes, and it was supposed to be John's job to make sure no one did. He loved him, that made him responsible.

That first night they'd spent together, both worn out but satisfied, a little sticky and too hot, but content, they'd continued to lay beside the fire. They'd both been naked, Sherlock's head laid on John's shoulder, a hand over John's heart, their legs tangled together as John held Sherlock close. Their breathing had evened out, but John's heart was still beating fast. This - having Sherlock - was more than he ever could have imagined.

"I'm going to look after you," John had said into Sherlock's hair. "You and Rosie are my family and I'm going to do everything I can to protect you."

Only he wasn't doing a very good job of it. Only, Sherlock had managed to school his expression, but John had seen the hurt and panic flash in his eyes. Only, they were stood only a few feet apart, but it suddenly felt like miles. John wanted to move forward and pull Sherlock close, tell him how sorry he was, how he would never hurt him, never ever again. But he didn't know if that was what Sherlock wanted - he claimed to love this man but he didn't even know how to comfort him.

"I think everyone's tired," Sherlock said, a little too quietly. "I think we all just need some sleep." John nodded. "Goodnight," Sherlock added before turning and walking to his bedroom.

John felt his breath catch once again, and fought against the tears threatening to fall. He and Sherlock had been sleeping in his bed since that first night they'd been together, with Rosie's crib at the foot of the bed where they could check on her at a moment's notice. Sherlock hadn't slept in his own bed for months. A cold feeling settled in John's stomach as he went downstairs to take Rosie back from Mrs Hudson and put her to bed.

That was when he knew he'd messed up big time.

 

* * *

 

John barely slept that night, tossing and turning, missing the heat of Sherlock beside him. It was ironic that the one night John couldn't sleep was the night Rosie could. It gave John more time than he wished he had to think about what he'd done, about how badly he'd managed to mess up one of the best things to ever happen to him. Sherlock was one of the people he loved most in the world, and all he'd done was hurt him and break his trust. John knew that above all else he had to fix it.

So, the next day, he had Rosie fed, bathed and dressed before Sherlock had even surfaced. When he did - only to use the bathroom - the dark circles under his eyes mirrored John's own. At the sound of the shower turning on, John scribbled a quick note telling Sherlock where he was, then he grabbed Rosie and a travel bag and left. His plan to fix things would go a lot more smoothly without Rosie there to interrupt, and so he took his daughter to spend the day with Molly. He'd also rung in sick from work, which technically he was - sick to the stomach at his own actions.

He arrived home to find Sherlock had forced his entire body into his chair, tall limb curled up making him seem small and fragile. John forgot sometimes that Sherlock wasn't untouchable like he pretended to be, that even though he might not understand the feelings of others, he still felt them himself. John, not for the first time, felt the need to wrap him up in a blanket and hide him from all the wrongs in the world. Right now, however, John was those wrongs.

"Why aren't you at work?" Sherlock mumbled, watching John with sad eyes.

"We need to talk about what happened yesterday." John explained. "I felt like that was more important."

Sherlock nodded and disentangled himself from the chair, sitting on it properly. John moved to sit in his own chair across from Sherlock, watching him carefully as he did. He wanted to be close to Sherlock, but only if Sherlock wanted him to be. After last night, after seeing Sherlock flinching away from him, it became even more important that Sherlock be comfortable around him. It was important that Sherlock felt safe.

"First I want to say that I was out of line. You were trying to help me and Rosie, and I threw it back in your face, so I'm sorry about that." John said, somewhat tentatively. "I was in a bad mood and I had no right to take it out on you."

"It's fine-" Sherlock began, but John interrupted.

"No, it isn't. I love you, Sherlock, and I shouldn't treat you like my personal punch bag, verbally or otherwise." John saw the moment it clicked in Sherlock's mind. "What I did at the hospital, it was unforgivable. I know you said you're fine, and you like to pretend that nothing can hurt you, but I did and you can never understand how sorry I am for that." John paused, still watching Sherlock's reactions to check he was okay. "I want you to know that I am _never_ going to hurt you like that again, alright? I swear to you."

Sherlock nodded and whispered, "Okay," just loud enough for John to here it.

"Can I..." John gestured to Sherlock who nodded again. "I love you," John said as he slid from the chair onto his knees on the floor. "I love you," he repeated as he knee-walked forwards until he was right in front of Sherlock. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he chanted as he reached up and cupped the back of Sherlock's neck, bringing him forwards into a slow, loving kiss.

"I love you too," Sherlock confessed, pulling away just long enough to speak before pressing their lips together again.

John vowed that day to never, _never_ do anything that could hurt Sherlock ever again. He had his beautiful daughter, his wonderful friends, and the man he loved. He was truly happy, happier than he had ever been before, and he hoped so was Sherlock.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading!
> 
> So, I've discovered that endings are not my strong suit, mainly because I never know how to end! But I tried, so gold star for me.
> 
> This doesn't really do justice to the headcanon, but I love it and I wanted to write something from it. This is what happened. Maybe I shouldn't write at like ten o'clock at night? But never mind!
> 
> Please leave a Kudos and a comment if you're feeling lovely, they basically fuel me so...
> 
> If you want to message me my Instagram is @Favefangirl and my Tumblr is [nebulous--bounds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nebulous--bounds) I'm more than happy to answer any questions, maybe fill any prompts or just generally converse with you lovely people. Be sure to follow me, too, if you want! I'm mostly multi-fan and I blog a lot about writing (especially on Tumblr). You can also follow me on Pinterest [here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/Favefangirl/)
> 
> Thanks again for reading, have a wonderful day!


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